Cinnamon and ginger floated in the air as we made our way past the kitchen. It seemed too quiet without Andrew’s cheerful whistle. I could make out Pepper’s soft voice.
“Come on, let’s get you out of those clothes. You—out,” she ordered Geoffrey. He went to lay me on the bed, but I held on with what little effort I could.
“Please stay,” I whispered, opening my eyes to see him.
“I’ll never leave your side again,” he said.
I gave up and let go, surrendering to the night.
Chapter 24
The next few days passed in a gray haze. I remember being at the memorial that Ashleigh had arranged for Dawn, people coming and going through the club. I spoke with some of them, but I couldn’t tell you what I said. My voice had taken on a flat tone. Geoffrey never truly left my side.
I remember being introduced to Dawn’s parents and her younger sister, who looked like a mini version of Dawn. Her mom was beyond speaking, her tears were so constant. Her father thanked everyone and awkwardly hugged Ash. Me, on the other hand, he seemed unable to let go of.
“It’s nice to meet you, Megan. Dawn spoke a lot about you. Thanks for being her friend, thanks for being with her when…” His own tears cut off his aching words. I don’t remember what I said to him, but he smiled at me as they left.
Memories of my own mother’s passing hung over me like an unwanted overcoat: meeting Dawn’s family brought up unanswered questions about my father. I could count on one hand how many times my mom had spoken of my real father. I always imagined him as a hero, tall and strong, someone who would swoop in and save the day, rescuing mom and me, but no such person ever came. I’d learned at an early age not to ask about him unless I wanted mom in tears. On those rare occasions when she’d say something about him, I cherished it—words like “quiet,” “kind,” and “curious” described her few memories of him.
Ashleigh gave the entire staff the week off with pay. “Everyone needs time to heal and be with your families,” she said. It was extremely generous of her, but money didn’t matter right now. After the service, Geoffrey and I left hand-in-hand.
Geoffrey, I said silently as others passed us. I want to go home. He kissed my hand, intertwined with his. He held the door of the car for me and then got in, turning over the engine.
“Then we go home,” he said out loud as he pulled onto the avenue. The smell of the new interior seats stung my nose. Geoffrey had to replace the blood-soaked seats and carpet after he got his car back from the police.
“No, not your house,” I said, closing my eyes. I let my mental pictures cross the link: the long, twisting drive that led up to the rambler-style log cabin surrounded by old growth firs and cedars, now covered in snow.
The hill? he questioned silently as he saw my memories.
“Please?” I said, opening my eyes.
“The hill it is then,” he said, as he changed lanes on the empty freeway.
The trip usually took and hour or more, but not the way Geoffrey drove: we were there in thirty minutes. I sat in silence, playing through the images that flowed through my mind. I don’t know why I felt the urge to go home now. I hadn’t been there since mom died, but I felt like someone or something was calling me there. He never asked about my feelings of urgency, though I’m sure he sensed them.
The closer we got, the stronger the pull became. I reached around the seat and grabbed my pack, which held my sketch pads. I flipped open the pages as he swiftly turned one corner after another. My pencil flew across the page as I sketched the image I was seeing.
“Your forest?” he asked aloud as my pencil scratched away.
“Something’s there. I don’t know how to explain it, but I need to find it.”
“Is it in your house?”
“No, that’s long gone,” I said. “I just need to go there.”
He pulled into the overgrown driveway, weeds and wildlife doing their best to reclaim it. The house was gone, but a “for sale” sign was still posted by the driveway.
Geoffrey cut the engine and the silence fell hard. Even undoing my seatbelt seemed loud. He got out as I opened my door. I glanced at the drawing in my hand and then toward the forest’s edge. The opening was clear to me, but a stranger would never see it.
His face was strangely calm, but I could feel his concern at leaving me alone, to face whatever it was that was calling to me.
“I have to do this,” I said, looking up at him. I knew that letting me walk into a darkened forest by myself wasn’t high on his list of safe things for me to do, but I had to follow my instincts.
“I know,” he said. He kissed me gently, and then reluctantly let me go. His venom danced on my tongue as I ran for the opening. I knew every tilt of the ground, every root and fallen tree. The deeper I went, the more my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I could feel every creature around me. I let the unseen force guide me left, then right, over the stream. I found myself among old-growth stumps, half-eaten away by time. The snow and ice were no obstacle as I jumped easily to sit atop one of the larger stumps.
It was surprisingly easy to ignore the cold. I felt Geoffrey melt away from the link, leaving me to my thoughts. I could feel the isolation and silence wrap around me, yet there was no sadness—only relief to breathe, to feel the living forest, to be alone.
I opened my eyes to find him standing below my perch. I reached out to take his offered hand. As I pushed off the stump it gave way, splintering down its side. The snow fell away, revealing a small opening under the exposed roots.
“Out of all the stumps here, what are the odds?” I said in a whisper as I noticed a silver box peeking out of the stump. Geoffrey cleared away the wood and dirt, reaching for it. I felt the pull become stronger as he unearthed it. He wiped off many layers of dirt, exposing a coat of arms on the cover. I reached down to take it, touching the face plate.
“I know this,” I said. It felt solid in my hands, yet it looked ancient.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I know it, but I don’t know how… or why. I don’t recognize the coat of arms.” My fingers traced the edges of the inlay.
Geoffrey touched the coat-of-arms, frowned, and said, “I don’t recall this as being part of your family.”
“But it is, somehow.” Whatever impulse had drawn me here was gone, now that I held the box in my hands.
I put the box in my pack, and Geoffrey knelt down so could I climb up on his back. We flew through the forest and back to the car, leaving the darkness behind. The sadness that had haunted us was gone, and it left my mind clear.
In our silence, he knew that I had questions about the Inner Circle.
You’re curious about it. That’s to be expected. It doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it, though, he thought warily.
Well, I could ask one of the others, then. Pepper, maybe?
He sighed out loud, knowing he was stuck. “I suppose the easiest way to describe the Inner Circle is to compare it to a governing body. The heads of each geographical region report to the elders, who make up the Circle.”
“What exactly do they govern?” I asked, looking out the window. I realized we were almost home. I still had his undivided attention, and I tried to make the most of it.
“Our kind, basically. They pass laws, hold offices, keep the peace between regions and members—it’s nothing exciting, trust me.”
He was so trying not to give me what I wanted. He grinned, having caught my thought. “Because the less you know, the safer you are.” He kissed my hand as he shifted gears. “And because I’d rather keep you to myself than share you. I know it’s a bit selfish of me, but I’ve waited your entire life for you to find me.”
“Ah, aren’t you being sweet?” I teased, then dropped the bomb. “But you know what? I’m still going to find out what it is you’re not telling me,” I said with
a determined grin.
“Something told me you’d do that,” he said, shaking his head, as I started thinking of how to get what I wanted.
Chapter 25
My passion for sketching soothed and helped distract me from the unknown killer Geoffrey was pursuing. It was only two days until Christmas and I was working on another project, something special. I had seen an old, very tattered family portrait in Geoffrey’s study, one of his original family. With both Tracy and Pepper’s help, I was able to sneak it out and bring it home. I had decided to do a painting of Geoffrey’s mother, and looked carefully at the old portrait. Geoffrey was equal parts of his parents, his father’s strong jaw with his mother’s soft and tender eyes. His sisters stood next to him, and there was a small, empty cradle in the picture as well. Perhaps it was for the last son, not yet born at the time the painting was commissioned.
I had no photographs of my mother and me together. Shortly after her passing, the one house I’d called home burned to the ground, leaving only the crumbling fireplace to mark the place where we endured our terror-filled life. The fire marshal never was able to determine how the fire started, but in the end, all I was left with were the clothes on my back. Thank goodness for Ashleigh and her family! They’d taken me in, though her own home life was hardly Leave it to Beaver. Living there showed me that money didn’t buy happiness… but I put those memories away for tonight. She’d be here any minute. Tonight was girl’s night!
I heard the familiar clicking of her heels as she exited the elevator, and I grabbed my shades. Since before Dawn’s murder, my eyes stopped returning to a normal color. Hiding them was even more essential now. While others might
wonder why I wore them inside, Ashleigh knew about my eyes and just accepted my discomfort. I glanced around and realized my place looked like a bomb had gone off, I was too focused on finishing his gift to tidy up. I grabbed the door before her manicured hand could tap it.
“Surprise! Merry Christmas, Ash,” I said, opening it, helping empty her arm- full of goodies. Last year we’d been at her place, so it was my turn to host. She noticed the mess immediately.
“You’re sketching again?” she asked, putting the Coke in the fridge as I carefully turned over Geoffrey’s gift.
“Trying would be a better word,” I said, shrugging my shoulders as I stowed the canvas, paints, and other art supplies in the laundry basket and put it in my room.
“It’s nice to see that part of you again. I remember you used to drag those sketch pads everywhere. I had to pull you out to the swings just to have some fun.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” I smiled at her memories. She was right, of course. I could still see Ashleigh perched on a swing in her beautiful clothes, being pushed by the all cute boys. She’d pay them with a kiss each time.
“You had Sean Pierce at your beck and call. He listened to your every word and followed you around like a love-sick puppy,” I teased as I slipped the first cheesy Christmas movie into the DVD player. I handed her a bucket of popcorn and dove into my licorice.
“Yes,” she smiled coyly. “He was one of the better catches, wasn’t he?”
“Speaking of catches, how’s it going with Luke?”
“Oh, just marvelous. But enough about me. What’s going on with you two?”
If she could play coy, then so could I. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I know you. Don’t try to trick on me. I’ve seen you, catching rides from Ian, and Pepper, and even that Chase guy.” She eyed me like a criminal.
“Hey, I’m just catching rides home when Geoffrey’s busy with the band, that’s all. And you know that Chase is just a friend, and my neighbor,” I replied, turning up the volume on the Charlie Brown Christmas music.
“Trust me, Megan. This Chase guy is not interested in just friendship. I’ve seen how he looks at you.” She shook her head, and her hair bobbed over her shoulders.
There was no way I was going to be dragged into this argument, so I tried a different tack. “So where’s Luke taking you for Christmas?”
“Nice try. Don’t change the subject.” She snatched up the remote, muting the famous “Linus and Lucy” jingle.
“Seriously, Meg. What are you guys going on, three months now?” she pressed, waiting more patiently than usual for my reply.
I might as well get this over with. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Isn’t three months like the kiss of death for your boyfriends?”
She knew my history well—and she was right. But in reality, I’d known Geoffrey for so long that these three months seemed like nothing. The other two guys I’d dated lasted all of three months, if that, but they didn’t fit into my life the way Geoffrey did. He had been watching over me my whole life, the missing piece to my puzzle. I finally understood what people meant when they said a person “completed” them.
“You’re right. It has been three months. I didn’t realize it,” I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “But seriously, Ash, we’re good. Girl Scout promise,” I said with a salute.
“Well, you might want to let him in on that. He seems a bit touchy lately. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he had serious PMS.” She picked up her Coke and downed it, letting out a very uncharacteristic burp.
The rest of the night we steered clear of serious topics, laughing and giggling into the late hours. It felt good to just kick back, relax, and not have all the drama hanging over my head for a change.
She finally left after Home Alone was through. I loved her dearly, but sometimes she just wore me out with gossip and drama on every level. As I was cleaning up the last of the dropped popcorn from our tossing challenge game, I sensed him. I spun around and he was there on the balcony, raindrops scattered in his hair and a smile I couldn’t resist.
“Hey, you. Come on in.” I slid the door open and he sprinkled me with rain. “How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Long enough to see you two trying to catch popcorn with your mouths,” he chuckled.
“You dog! This was a girl’s night, so don’t knock it.” I playfully punched his shoulder.
“Would you like to see it from my perspective?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve shown me memories of your home, so I was thinking we could try it in reverse.” He slid his hand into mine, leading me to the couch. I sat, not knowing what to expect. It felt right to close my eyes.
Are you with me? His voice was soft and patient.
Ready when you are. At first, the light of the room glowed from behind my lids, but then I felt a slight pressure and my mental screen went dark, reminding me of a movie theater. It wasn’t a memory from tonight, but rather one from when we were much younger. Most likely middle school, judging by my sad excuse for a perm and Ashleigh’s braces. The feathers were flying in an epic pillow fight, with the usual junk food scattered about: candied orange slices stuck to the carpet, cans of Coke dripping on the coffee table.
Watching it made me smile. He’d been there with us, at her family’s lodge up on Crystal Mountain. He must have been above us in the open-beam rafters. Christmas music floated through the air as we pelted each other, laughing ourselves silly. Through the memory I could feel his joy at my moments of happiness with my best friend, a rare thing indeed at that point in my life. The scene ended softly and I opened my eyes in wonder.
“That was amazing. I could hear what you heard, even smell the popcorn, for crying out loud.”
“We have photographic—what they call eidetic—memories. Perfect recall,” he said and grinned, tousling my hair once again, rolling it between his fingers. The sensation stirred up feelings that I’d been trying to ignore. He eyed me, knowing exactly what he was doing. I didn’t try to stop him, and he had no intention of stopping. He closed the small gap between us, pressing his body against mine. I held back for a split second, trying to calcu
late where he was going. The link was a wide-open floodgate, and it was pretty clear where we were headed. He leaned in to kiss my lips, but I offered him my neck instead.
His hands molded me to him, while my hands got busy unbuttoning his shirt, gliding across his cool chest. I could feel him struggle, trying to resist the path we were heading down, but his body kept pursuing mine. The gentle drumming of the rain outside provided a perfect contrast to our rising passion. His kisses became harder, his teeth grazed my skin and intensified my need to take his mouth. He rose up, momentarily holding his body above mine as we both flashed images of what we wanted—no, needed—from each other, but then his voice interrupted the silent movies.
“Megan, I don’t know if I can hold back. I—” It was a struggle for him to speak.
“I trust you. Nothing will happen,” I said, reaching up, trying to pull him back onto me. We were right there, and I wasn’t going to stop in the middle.
“Megan, my kind… our emotions are driven by our passion. The one thing I can’t control is what I am. If I don’t contain it, I will hurt you.”
I already knew how this was going to end. “And neither one of us could live with that, I know.” We sat up, clinging to each other, both in need of a cold shower. It was late, but I wasn’t tired—if anything, just the opposite. I glanced outside as the rain turned to sleet.
“Madam, would you do me the honor of a cold stroll?” he said, politely offering his arm. It was a bit old-fashioned, and it made me grin.
“Why yes, kind sir. I’d love to accept your invitation,” I replied in my best
Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. I grabbed my coat and keys, but he gently took them out of my hand with a mischievous smile.
“You won’t need those. We’re not using the door.”
Oh, my God! Are you serious? It’s freezing outside.
“Ah, but I know just how to warm you up for the ride.” And with that he moved in for the kill, gently yet forcibly dipping me backwards, kissing me deeply. I held on, enjoying the intoxicating feel of his venom spreading through my body. The pressure across the link was sweetly intense as we slowly stood up. Instantly I sensed the world around me on an incredibly intense level. We walked out the patio door and the city took on a different vibe. The shadows were lit up, and I could hear the crunching sound of people walking through the sleet on the sidewalks below. The light poles and Christmas decorations were twinkling with kaleidoscope glows.
The Stage Page 29